Нора Робертс - Hideaway

When the cab drove out of sight, Noah slipped his hands into his pockets, pulled out his earbuds to listen to a little 50 Cent on the way home. In his head, he choreographed steps to go with the beat, with the lyrics, considered asking his dance instructor to help him refine them.

They jumped him on Ninth Avenue.

Cate sent the text as she rode up in the elevator—and didn’t notice Noah didn’t send his usual smiley-face emoji in response, as she saw Lily sitting out on the terrace.

“Are you waiting up for me again?” she asked as she went out.

“What I’m doing is enjoying this heat and humidity. I’m a southern girl, and it takes me back home.”

“Is that why you have two glasses out here with that bottle of water?”

“Thought you might be thirsty when you got here.” She poured a glass to prove it. “And that you might sit with me for a few minutes.”

“Yes to both.” Though she thought about the reading she had yet to do, Cate sat.

“How’s Noah?”

“He’s good. We’re good,” she added, knowing that the question lay under the terrace-sitting. “Things got messed up for a while, and I can’t blame him. But it’s eased off. There’s no real story, and a lot of other drama to write about.”

“All right then. I can cross that off my list. Now, just how much do you hate these summer classes?”

Cate blew out a breath. “So I didn’t pull that one off. I don’t hate them, say, with the heat of a thousand suns. Or even a hot summer night in New York. I just don’t like them, or school. At all. I didn’t know I didn’t like school until I tried this. Oh, except for French. That’s my bright spot. J’adore parler français et penser en français .”

“I got the first part—you like talking French.”

“I do, and thinking in French. I have to think in it to speak it. It’s only a few more weeks, and I want to see it through. Then, I think I might look for an adult ed class on conversational French, maybe take a course in photography, get back to dance class. I don’t know what else yet, but I’m thinking about it, what to do with what I learn, what I’m good at.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

She hoped so. One thing she knew when she settled in to do the reading, the analysis of same? It wouldn’t be teaching Film Studies.

The call from one of Noah’s roommates woke her just after six a.m.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Fear in every pulse beat, Cate rushed to the nurse’s station. “Noah Tanaka. They said downstairs he’s on this floor. He—he was attacked last night, beaten. I—”

Despite the sunniness of her scrub top of yellow daisies over a blue field, the nurse spoke briskly. All business. “Are you a family member?”

“No. I’m his girlfriend. Please—”

“I’m sorry. I can’t give you any information on Mr. Tanaka. He’s restricted to family only.”

“But I need to see him. I need to know if he’s going to be all right. I don’t know how badly he was hurt. I don’t know—”

“I can’t give you that information. If you’d like to wait, the waiting room is right down there, on the right.”

“But—”

“The waiting room,” the nurse said, “where some of Mr. Tanaka’s family is. His family isn’t restricted on sharing his information.”

That got through. “Oh. Thank you.”

Another nurse stepped up to answer a phone. “Poor kid.”

The first watched Cate race down the hall. “Which one?”

She saw Noah’s younger brother, Eli, curled into a ball on a small sofa, earbuds in, sleeping.

“Don’t wake him.” Bekka, Noah’s sister, stood by a little coffee/tea station. “He just finally fell asleep.”

“Bekka.”

“Let’s sit over here.” Dunking a tea bag in a paper cup, she walked to a pair of chairs.

She looked exhausted, her dark cloud of hair drawn back into a tangled pouf of a tail. Deep shadows dogged her eyes—gold like Noah’s. She wore gray leggings and a black tee with COLUMBIA emblazoned over it.

She went there, as serious about her ambition to become a doctor as Noah was about theater.

“I only just heard, and I came right away. They won’t let me see him, or tell me anything.”

“Hospital policy. We can add you to the list. But right now he’s sleeping. They can’t give him much for the pain right now because of the concussion. Mom and Dad are with him. Grandma and Ariel just went down for something to eat.”

“Please.” Cate grabbed Bekka’s hand. “Tell me how he is.”

“Sorry. I’m a little punchy. The hospital called last night, or early this morning. The police were already here when we got here. Noah came in unconscious, but he came to, tried to tell the police what happened. He’s got a concussion, detached retina, left eye, orbital fractures, both eyes, a broken nose.”

Bekka closed her eyes, sipped at the tea. And a tear leaked out. “Fractured cheekbone, left again. Bruised kidneys, abdominal bruising.”

She opened her eyes again, met Cate’s. “They beat him, two of them. Just beat and beat him.”

Both arms hugged to her belly, Cate rocked. “Is he going to be all right?”

“He’s going to need surgery for the retina, and possibly on both eyes for the orbital. We’re waiting for the specialist to examine him. He’ll need surgery for the cheekbone fracture because there’s some bone displacement. They need to wait until the swelling goes down, until he’s more stable.”

“Oh God.” Breathing in, breathing out, Cate pressed her fingers to her eyes. “How did this happen? Why would anyone do this to him?”

“He said he was walking back after you got a cab.”

“Oh God, oh God.”

“He thought there were two of them, and that’s what the witnesses who scared them off said. Two men, white men according to the witnesses. Noah doesn’t remember much, just walking and something, someone hitting him from behind. He doesn’t remember, or didn’t, what they looked like. The witnesses had more, but not much because they were about half a block away. But they said, when they started to beat him, they…”

“What?” At the hesitation, Cate clutched Bekka’s arm.

“They called him a nigger chink, a faggot, and they said he’d get more and worse if he tried to fuck a white girl again. They said if he ever put his hands on Cate Sullivan again, they’d cut off his dick.”

“They—” She couldn’t find words, not in her mind, much less voice them.

“That doesn’t make it your fault. But … our mother, especially our mother … You have to understand how hearing that, seeing him, makes her feel.”

She couldn’t understand. She couldn’t understand anything. “I don’t know what to do, what to say, how to feel.”

“The police are going to need to talk to you.”

“I don’t know anyone who’d do this to him. Bekka, I swear it.”

“You don’t have to know them.” On the sofa, earbuds out, eyes open, Eli watched her. In those eyes, eyes of a fifteen-year-old boy, lived such bitterness. “They know you.” He rolled off the couch. “I’m going for a walk,” he said, and walked out.

But they don’t, Cate thought. They don’t know me.

“Eli’s angry,” Bekka began. “Right now he can only see his brother in the hospital, put there by white men over a white girl. He can’t see past that yet.”

Cate closed her hand over the little heart she wore every day. “Will your family let me see him?”

“Yes, because he’s already asked for you. Whatever they feel, right now, they want only what’s best for Noah. Wait here. Let me go talk to my mother.”

Shaken, sickened, Cate waited. Because she knew Lily also waited, worried, she texted an edited version she’d expand on in person.